welcome to across the chessboard! we're an alice in wonderland based site with an original plot and slight modern dystopian twist and canon characters from alice's adventures in wonderland and through the looking glass and what alice found there, both by lewis carroll. for a longer summary, please visit our information center here. if you have any questions, feel free to give an admin a shout in the cbox (it's to your left- just click the chatter button and it should pop open). again, welcome, and we hope you join us!

it is currently summer 2015 in london.
it is currently summer-ish in wonderland.

Wonderland wasn't always this way. There was a time when it mirrored medieval England, albeit with a few magical elements: a few quirks and eccentricities that made it truly unique. While all feared the Queen's mercurial temper and the fine blade of her Guillotine, all was well, until a little girl named Alice Liddell disturbed the status quo and sparked a revolution. The kingdom began to fall into decay as the taint of the modern world invaded. History is beginning to repeat itself and no one is happy. As the Queen of Hearts tangles in a battle of wits and riddles with the Cheshire Cat, the rest are starting to wonder ... is it true that the White Rabbit is bringing humans to Wonderland when they themselves are banned from going to London?

lance chevalier

<p>Lance dragged himself out of bed with a groan, washing his face first thing in his usual ritual. He felt like he'd been trampled by one of his horses and mauled by a cat at the same time. He caught sight of himself in the mirror and flushed a vivid shade of pink- which complimented the purple on the rest of his body quite nicely. He LOOKED like he'd been trampled by a horse and mauled by a cat! His neck, collarbones, chest, shoulders, back, and arms were all absolutely covered with bruises, scratch marks, and older scars- not to mention the deeper cut on the top of his shoulder that was very slowly healing. </p>

<p>He cursed Achilles up and down, swearing to get revenge as soon as he was healed. As he examined his fresh marks a bit closer he noticed there was a very obvious 'x' pattern on his neck. Too obvious. Unnaturally obvious. It could never pass as anything but <i>someone</i> marking their territory, and everyone in the world knew there was only one person who would do that to Lance. Damn that man! Lance had been planning to spend the day out and about, and now he was covered in black, blue, and purple marks. And scratches. And a few slightly less than subtle bite marks. And Achilles's former first initial. So much for a nice day out. </p>

<p>He sighed and took a hot bath, cleaning the scratches and bites and re-wrapping the deep cut on his shoulder before getting dressed. He wore his usual white shirt, but he balanced it out with dark brown pants this time in order to perhaps draw the eye away from the incredibly obvious bruises. He knew it wouldn't work, but he could hope. </p>

<p>He decided he'd spend today with his horses and pray that he looked a bit less terrible tomorrow. He really hoped so because tomorrow he'd be in his armor again and 100 pounds of steel resting on bruises would be very, very un-fun. To get to the stables, though, he had to essentially go through the entire castle and through the castle grounds. Meaning he had to do a rather long 'walk of shame' out of his own room. That was exactly what Achilles had wanted, wasn't it? To mark Lance as his own for everyone to see? It was incredibly embarrassing, though he had to admit it was also just a <i>little</i> thrilling.</p>

<p>He fixed his hair and adjusted his clothes to hide as much of the evidence as he could- though the mark on his neck was a lost cause in that department- and set out into the hall. His walk wasn't so bad. He passed a few cards but they were too busy to take full notice of his bruises. The castle was large, and the chances of running into anyone were relatively slim. He was nearly out when he spotted someone he hadn't thought to worry about running into, but now that he saw her he wanted to be anywhere but there.</p>

<p>He rubbed the bruise on his neck, trying to hide it. He bowed slightly, and tried to walk around her as he spoke. </p>

<p><b>"Lady Tempest, nice to see you. Lovely morning. So sorry for the rudeness, bit of a rush-" </b></p>

<p>He wanted to run, but he knew it was too late. He was trapped the moment he turned the corner and spotted her. He knew he couldn't escape now even if he wanted to. She was a cat, and he was an obviously flustered mouse.</p>

</div><center><div class="ptem4"></div><div class="ptem3">Do not bite at the bait of pleasure, till you know there is no hook beneath it.</div></center></div></div></center>[/dohtml]

<p>Lance entered Blake's quarters and smiled, leaning against the door as he closed it behind him. The strange human had been here for a little over a week now, already starting on his duties as a card. Lance had been introduced to the new Card earlier in the week, and had seen him around the castle. He thought it was about time to speak to him privately. He was naturally inclined to make friends, even with the cards no matter how hard Achilles protested. Why would this one be any different?</p>

<p>The new human fascinated him. He looked old, but he had the innocence of a child. He acted like he didn't need help when even Lance could see that he was in over his head. He worked diligently at whatever he was asked to do when clearly all the man wanted to do was collapse onto the floor. Lance wanted to know more. He wasn't sure if he was impressed or if he wanted to laugh as the stranger stumbled around like a newborn colt, but he wanted to know more. </p>

<p><b>"Mr. Everly. "</b> He said sweetly<b> "How was your first week? How are you adjusting to your new quarters?" </b></p>

<p>He was mostly just being polite. He could already tell from their limited interaction that Blake didn't like him. He hoped speaking with him privately like this could help that a bit. He hated thinking that he'd made a bad first impression, though he wasn't surprised. Blake was so quiet and acted so old it was no wonder he wouldn't like lance's exuberance and loudness. But, he'd do his best to be the strange human's friend. </p>

</div><center><div class="ptem4"></div><div class="ptem3">

The superior man thinks always of virtue; the common man thinks of comfort.

Lance is probably one of the most egotistical creatures in all of Wonderland, and that says a lot. In spite of loving himself too much, he manages to devote himself completely to the Queen-who he considers to be the woman he loves most in the world.

This space is for me to post all the little things of his that run through my head, that would otherwise occupy the entire board if I let him. This will include monologues, AU oneshots, his thoughts on his friends, complaints about work, and anything else that doesn't belong in a thread.

<p>He had shouted at the top of his lungs. He'd never used such a tone with his friend before, though the fire in his usually soft blue eyes had shown he'd meant it just as harshly as he'd said it. He just couldn't stand it anymore. Any of it. The laughing, the comments made in jest, the attacks on his his honor, the insults to his physical and mental prowess. Today it was one step too far. The proverbial straw that broke the camel's back.</p>

<p>What had been said to provoke the violent reaction from the man who usually took such insults in stride? Who knows. It was all usually said in the same spirit. It could have been anything. It wouldn't have mattered. It wasn't the subject that had set him off specifically. It wasn't one thing. It was everything. From everyone. And he was tired of it. </p>

<p>Subservience was one thing. Being devoted, being submissive, being docile... It wasn't this. It wasn't the constant volley of hurtful words. It wasn't the barrage of abusive comments. There was a difference between bedroom masochism and being kicked into the mud for everyone else to laugh at. It wasn't having his manhood questioned in front of Queen and Country. No. He wasn't going to sit and be called weak anymore. </p>

<p>He'd left the room before his friend could even begin to understand his outrage. He'd left on that word and that word alone. <i>'Enough'</i>. Heavy leather boots hit stone floors with purpose, turning a corner before anyone had time to think of following him. He pulled off his gauntlets and let them fall to the ground as he walked, leaving them behind. </p>

<p>As he made his way out of the castle his chest heaved inside his steel-plate armor. There were no tears, because he seethed to hotly with rage for them to come. His hand gripped the hilt of his sword tightly, knuckles as white as his armor, as if silently threatening the world as he walked undisturbed. </p>

<p>He arrived at the stables completely uninterrupted in his dark mood. He'd passed a Card along the way, one with a familiar face to him now, but the man had said nothing. He was grateful for it, because he would have had nothing to say to him that the Card hadn't already assumed. </p>

<p>He closed the stable doors behind him and began to tear off pieces of his armor, throwing them across the hay-covered floor with metallic thuds loud enough to terrify the horses. He didn't care. He didn't care about any of it.</p>

<p> His armor. His position. His purpose in the castle. His servitude. His oaths. None of it mattered. None of it had ever mattered. No one had ever wanted him to return to the castle after the current Queen had taken over. No one had asked him to return to the woman who had broken his heart and married another man in the same time frame. No one had told him to swear fealty second, again. No one had cared for him enough to desire his presence, least of all the two people he cared for most, the people who scorned him most. </p>

<p>As he tossed his final piece of armor to the ground he sighed heavily, expelling as much poisonous spirit out of himself with one breath as he could. He let the remaining wrath simmer as he stared at his work. All of it was his work. From the paulderons to the mail, he had made that armor himself. He'd made dozens just like it, with variations on design, which arm was the dominant one, different styles, and they all laid in his personal armory at the back of the stables. But this. These bits of his work scattered across the room wherever they had landed... This was a battlefield. </p>

<p>It brought back memories. Soldier against soldier, armor against armor, steel against steel. Hoof beats in damp earth drowned out by the wounded cries of men. Himself on horseback, wearing much the same armor. His dear friend at the head of the infantry line with armor more red with blood than paint. A heavy weapon had sat in both their hands, both stained red over silver with the number of enemies they had been plunged into. For one, a sword. For the other, a lance. Both deadly instruments of war.</p>

<p>And yet this proved to remind him of the things his friend said so often to hurt him. </p>

<p><i>"That's not a weapon, it's a damn toy for your silly games."</i></p>

<p><i>"This isn't a sport any more than chess is a sport, and at least chess requires some intelligence."</i></p>

<p><i>"I have trouble believing you were ever IN a war. You were probably cowering the whole time."</i></p>

<p>He unsheathed his sword and plunged it into the wood of the stable wall with a swift motion and a cry of fury. The horses neighed loudly behind him, startled by the sound. A few kicked the gates of their pens. The sound of their distress did nothing to quell his anger. </p>

<p>He stood there shaking for what felt like an eternity, grip still tight on his sword in spite of the fact that it was buried deep enough in the wood to threaten appearing on the outside. He slowly calmed himself and withdrew his hand from the blade, leaving it where it lay. It was worth nothing to him. </p>

<p>He went to his armory and claimed two small daggers for himself instead, tossing aside his sword scabbard in exchange for a more discreet dagger belt. He'd always been more proficient with daggers than a sword. Far better with his bare fists as well, but at least a dagger could kill if need be... and need might. </p>

<p>He looked at the white sleeves of his shirt and decided he could stand the color no longer. He changed into a black shirt with a read leather jerkin unlaced at the top, approving of the new color scheme as he walked over bits of his old armor back to the main stables. He could feel the fire dying inside of him with each step, quenched by the catharsis of the last half hour or so. </p>

<p><b>"What <i>now</i>?"</b></p>

<p>He didn't know if he asked it out loud or in his head, but he certainly asked it. <i>'What now'</i>, indeed. He'd yelled at his friend, deserted his post. He'd defiled his armor and all but ruined his sword..... and he'd all but abandoned his Queen and his oaths to her. He didn't know what to do. He didn't know how to begin to reconcile all these thoughts. </p>

<p>He opened Branwen's pen and quickly had her set with a saddle, pulling himself onto his favorite horse with ease and swiftness before ordering her out of the stable. He rode across the field that separated the stables from the gates, letting Branwen pick up speed as they reached the cobblestone path that lead out into the city. He passed a couple guards as he exited the gates, ignoring their shouts of protest against his speed and questions on where the knight could be going out of armor at this time. </p>

<p>That was his decision. It had been made. He quickly made his way through the streets, leaving the castle behind him. He gave one final glance back at it as it disappeared behind other buildings. </p>

<p><b>Treason. </b></p>

<p>He rode out of the city, letting Branwen slow down after they were well past the city limits and deep into the small towns on the outskirts. They continued well into the night, and he didn't give himself the opportunity to regret anything. What was done was done. Even if he went back now and begged he wasn't sure he could get his position back. Stripped of title, honor, rank, pride... None of it mattered anymore. All of it was behind him. Even his greatest loves were now his enemies. </p>

<p>He found himself at the border of a dark and foreboding wood, and with a deep breath he dismounted his horse. He kissed her on the nose, patted her neck gently, and gave her the gesture to return home. Branwen seemed momentarily confused, but she was as loyal a horse as he had been a knight, and so she trotted off back the way they'd come. </p>

<p>He adjusted his clothes, felt the daggers on his belt, and sighed softly as he ran a hand through his hair. Did he really dare to do this? It could end two ways, and there was no guarantee one would be less bloody than the other. But as he hesitated he thought of his friend's jeers and the laugh they elicited from his queen, and he stepped into the Tulgey without a word. </p>

<p>He walked for an hour, making it deep into the trees, making sure he could see nothing but groves for miles around. He inhaled the thick musty scent of moss and earth and sealed whatever fate had in store for him with a word. One word, much the way the road had began. Whether it would result in his death or a new allegiance, he didn't care. Either way, the pain was ended. </p>

<p>Lance loved the human world. He hadn't at first, and it had taken him a while to be comfortable, but he loved it now. Especially as he sat there outside the cafe, cigarette unlit between his lips as two large books sat on the table before him. He had found himself a grey pinstripe suit and gold tie that he decided suited him well. He'd been reading all morning, drinking coffee, pretending to smoke but never actually lighting the thing. It was perfect. </p>

<p>The books he had with him were "The Noble Tale of Sir Lancelot Du Lac” and “Sir Lancelot and Queen Guinevere” both by Sir Thomas Malory. Lance had been reading them over and over for ages. He'd read dozens of others, sure, but LANCELOT. He understood Lancelot. he connected with him. And because of it he'd made his own full name an homage. Lance Errant Chevalier. It was perfect. All of it was perfect. It almost made him not want to return to Wonderland some days. </p>

<p>He knew he shouldn't think that way. Once a knight, always a knight. If anything that idea had only been reaffirmed in his readings. He'd learned so much about what it meant to be a knight while he was here. And he knew he could never stay in London over Wonderland.... Though he might keep this incredibly dapper fashion. He'd certainly try to keep the books. </p>

<p>He set the cigarette on the ashtray before him and sipped his coffee with a contented sigh. He looked out across the street, admiring the hustle and bustle. This city was huge. There was so much to see and do, it was no wonder he'd yet to see any familiar faces from the Royal City roaming around this one.</p>

<p><i> It would be nice, though,</i> he mused.</p>

<p>No sooner had the thought crossed his mind than he saw him, and his bright blue eyes managed to get just a little brighter. He stood quickly, tucked his books under his arm, stuffed the unlit cigarette into a small metal cigarette case, and trotted across the street after the familiar young man. </p>

<p><b>"Your highness!"</b> He said cheerfully, waving with his available hand, using the other to keep from dropping his books. <b>"I didn't expect to see you here. Isn't it dangerous for you to be roaming about such a big and strange city alone? I'll accompany you, if you'll have me. I've been so looking forward to sharing this interesting world with a familiar face, and I can think of no one I would prefer to have at my side than my prince. "</b> It took every ounce of his restraint to keep from bowing to Jack, and the only reason he managed it was because he'd been told a dozen times not to. </p>

<p>He flashed his brightest and most charming smile instead, though it was really his default smile. He was rarely anything BUT charming. Some found it effective, others found it insufferable. Either way, it was just who he was. </p>

</div><center><div class="ptem4"></div><div class="ptem3">I hate a moral coward, one who lacks a manly spark.I just detest a man afraid to go home in the dark.I always spend my evening where there's women, wine, and song!But like a man, I always bring my little wife along!</div></center></div></div></center>[/dohtml]